A large map of western Andor was stretched over the length of a table, with an ornately-hilted dagger holding it flat at one end, and a couple of books weighing down the other. It showed the lands between the Mountains of Mist and the River Arinelle. The map had to be rather old, as it depicted neither Hama Valon nor the Grey Tower, both conspicuously absent from near the shores of Lake Somal. What it lacked in modern details, it made up for in topography and lost settlements.
With the immaculate hand of someone accustom to writing in large financial ledgers, Sabine ni Hayadan t'Masin marked down the names of the settlements she did not recognise from the map. In painstaking detail, she also made notes on how to find these settlements, based on the distances and directions from different landmarks. It was tiresome and tedious. It would have been considerably more efficient to remove the map from the Library, if not for the fact that the Browns would have had a field day producing more and more penances for the Saldaean to endure. That and a sense of propriety. Sabine had never stolen in her life, and she was not about to start now, map or no map. She knew the cost of a good map, and she also knew the rebuke of a scorned Aes Sedai. Even without her morals, that would be have been enough reason not to consider it. The last punishment she had received was not an experience the Lady Masin wished to revisit ever again. It was disgraceful enough to remember how she had howled in pain, with snotty tears running down her face.
The pen had run dry. She returned it to the inkwell, drawing up the dark fluid that matched her eye and hair colour. These lists of names and locations would serve her well in the future. An Aielman, Terric of the Salt Flats Sept of the Nakai Aiel, had tried to convince her that she had to make do with the life she was living, not the life she wanted. Ideas of escaping the Grey Tower had not abandoned her completely, but even if she had to wait until the shawl of an Aes Sedai was sitting around her shoulders, Sabine intended on visiting each and every one of these lost places in search of the Horn of Valere. She was a noblewoman first, a Hunter of the Horn second, and an Aes Sedai third, if ever.
A long shadow cast itself over the map, and Sabine looked up away from her notetaking at the source of this intrusion. Dressed in the crisp black of the Asha'man, the dark-skinned man had the sword of a Dedicated on his collar. He stood at about the same height as her, with hair just as dark as her own. His face was also soft, like her own, making the goatee seem oddly placed on his chin. He failed to remind her of anyone she knew, even in a passing sense. Who was this curious stranger?
"You are in my light," she said observantly, without the usual haughtiness she would have admonished someone else with. Even with the superior rank to her own, she was not about to give airs and graces to a mere Dedicated, but this one looked less smug and superior to the others. "Can I help you?" There was a chance he was simply turned around, and the sooner he departed, the sooner she could continue with her notes.
With the immaculate hand of someone accustom to writing in large financial ledgers, Sabine ni Hayadan t'Masin marked down the names of the settlements she did not recognise from the map. In painstaking detail, she also made notes on how to find these settlements, based on the distances and directions from different landmarks. It was tiresome and tedious. It would have been considerably more efficient to remove the map from the Library, if not for the fact that the Browns would have had a field day producing more and more penances for the Saldaean to endure. That and a sense of propriety. Sabine had never stolen in her life, and she was not about to start now, map or no map. She knew the cost of a good map, and she also knew the rebuke of a scorned Aes Sedai. Even without her morals, that would be have been enough reason not to consider it. The last punishment she had received was not an experience the Lady Masin wished to revisit ever again. It was disgraceful enough to remember how she had howled in pain, with snotty tears running down her face.
The pen had run dry. She returned it to the inkwell, drawing up the dark fluid that matched her eye and hair colour. These lists of names and locations would serve her well in the future. An Aielman, Terric of the Salt Flats Sept of the Nakai Aiel, had tried to convince her that she had to make do with the life she was living, not the life she wanted. Ideas of escaping the Grey Tower had not abandoned her completely, but even if she had to wait until the shawl of an Aes Sedai was sitting around her shoulders, Sabine intended on visiting each and every one of these lost places in search of the Horn of Valere. She was a noblewoman first, a Hunter of the Horn second, and an Aes Sedai third, if ever.
A long shadow cast itself over the map, and Sabine looked up away from her notetaking at the source of this intrusion. Dressed in the crisp black of the Asha'man, the dark-skinned man had the sword of a Dedicated on his collar. He stood at about the same height as her, with hair just as dark as her own. His face was also soft, like her own, making the goatee seem oddly placed on his chin. He failed to remind her of anyone she knew, even in a passing sense. Who was this curious stranger?
"You are in my light," she said observantly, without the usual haughtiness she would have admonished someone else with. Even with the superior rank to her own, she was not about to give airs and graces to a mere Dedicated, but this one looked less smug and superior to the others. "Can I help you?" There was a chance he was simply turned around, and the sooner he departed, the sooner she could continue with her notes.
